Of Breaking and Fixing
by tea-and-outer-space
Summary: Bucky remembers when Steve used come home broken. Bucky would sit him down, and clean out the cuts, and patch up the bruises, and make it all better. Seventy years later, Steve's the one doing most of the fixing, but Bucky still finds moments to take care of him. Steve/Bucky oneshot, pretty angsty and fluffy.


Bucky would never admit it, but sometimes he misses Steve being small.

He'd never tell Steve that, because he knows Steve misses it too occasionally, and he doesn't want him to feel bad. Although, in some fucked up way, that's what he misses.

Steve being hurt, him making it all better.

Him and Steve used to share a tiny apartment, and _at least _four times a week Steve would come home with bruises and scrapes, sometimes even a black eye and a few cuts that would leave scars. As if he didn't have enough already.

Bucky would always fuss, tell him to sit on the worn-out couch, and go get something to clean out the scratches and cuts, something cold for his black eyes, and some bandages. He'd sit on the coffee table in front of Steve, and patch him up while Steve recounted why he got in a fight.

Bucky would always say something to the effect of, "You really need to stop this, Steve, it's not good for you to come home like this every night."

Steve would always say something to the effect of "I _had_ to, Bucky, [she/he/it] needed [defending/a lesson/help]."

Bucky would then frown, tell him to be more careful next time (although they both knew he wouldn't) and he'd lean forward and place a kiss on Steve's forehead.

Sometimes, if he was feeling a little flirty, he place a kiss on each wound as he bandaged it up. Steve would always blush like mad, but he'd never protest. He liked it, and Bucky knew he liked it.

Steve used to get sick, often. He was a man who weighed a grand total of ninety-two pounds, he had more health problems than Bucky could count. A month didn't go by without Steve getting sick, in some way.

If Steve had a runny nose, Bucky would give him the tissues. If Steve couldn't sleep, Bucky would stay up all night with him, and if all Steve wanted to do was sleep, Bucky would give up the bigger bed and go sleep on the couch. If Steve was cold, Bucky would get right into bed with him and wrap his arms around him to keep him warm.

Any time something was wrong with Steve, Bucky would help. It had been that way since they had first met.

And then the war happened. Bucky left and was overseas, and while he was off fighting, Steve had changed. Bucky knew Steve would be different in some form when he saw him again, because you leave anyone alone for a few months and they'll always wind up different.

He didn't expect him to be a foot taller and as fit as hell. When he had woken up on that table he had doubted that it even was Steve. It couldn't have been him, Steve was as scrawny as a twig and as tall as a hobbit, but it was him. He was different, but it was him.

And he could handle that.

It took him a while to get used to the fact that Steve was head taller than him, stronger than him, and was, well, better than him in almost every way. But he did get used to it. He got used to how all the girls flocked to Steve instantly instead of him, like it used to work. He got used to all of those little things.

Bucky didn't get used to how Steve didn't need his help that much any more.

If he got any little scrapes or bruises, it didn't bother him, as he was a _freaking superhuman_ and little injuries would be healed in no time. They were nothing to fuss over.

Any injuries that were big enough to need help for, those were injuries where actual doctors needed to get involved.

Another amazing side effect of the serum was that he didn't get sick. No more colds or viruses. He didn't have asthma, or allergies, or any of his previous health maladies.

With all of that gone, there was no you-sit-on-the-couch-and-I'll-sit-on-the-coffee-table-and-make-it-all-better routine. There was no staying up late because Steve couldn't sleep, there was no more sharing a bed for warmth. There was no more kisses on bruises, there was no more cuddling after Steve had a bad dream.

And Bucky couldn't handle that.

He didn't realize it at the time, he and Steve and the others were always off on some mission, allowed to get a few hours sleep, and then shipped off to another country to do it all over again. Even if it had all stayed the same, they didn't have time for it, and even if they had time for it, it's not like they could have done it in front of the other guys. They were all a group of misfits, sure, but two guys, that wasn't accepted well then.

And then Bucky died. At least, it felt as if he did, and death wasn't all that bad really. But then he was woken up and shaped into a soulless shell of himself. Trained and prodded and picked at and edited until he was a perfect assassin, the pure embodiment of a heartless killer. The second he stepped out of line, his memory was erased.

At the beginning he could remember bits and pieces. He was Bucky. New York was home. Dancing was good. Trains were bad. And there was a man named Steve, who was very very important.

But with every jolt to his brain, less and less became clear.

Soon he forget who Bucky was. New York was no longer home, it was merely a location. Dancing was frivolous, and honestly, idiotic. Trains, they were a convenient mode of transportation.

There wasn't anyone named Steve. Not anyone important, anyway.

And then, seventy or so years later, there was someone named Steve, Captain Steve Rodgers, also known as the infamous Captain America. His mission.

The less talked about that mission, the better.

Shortly after it was all over and he had wander away from that beach, he had gotten a headache, and after the headache had evolved into a migraine the memories started coming back. His name _was _Bucky. Clear as day, it popped into his head, _I'm Bucky Barnes. _

He had done a bit of digging, and a bit of traveling, and soon he found himself remembering almost everything, new things each day.

Steve was the last thing he remembered, because at first he didn't want to remember. But as soon as he did allow himself to remember, he was instantly washed over in self-hatred, regret that he didn't remember sooner.

How the hell could he forget _Steve_?

He had decided to swallow his pride and showed up at the door of Steve's new apartment. Bucky Barnes was too much of a self proclaimed badass to admit that he was downright terrified of what would happen when the door opened, but he was terrified all the same.

Steve could be angry, he had tried to kill him (Well, the Winter Soldier had tried, but Bucky wasn't quite sure where the Winter Soldier ended and Bucky began, or if there even was a line between them at all.). Steve could be mad, and slam the door right in his face before he even had a chance to say he remembered. Or worse. Things had the potential to be so much worse than just a door slammed in his face.

He knocked lightly with his non-metal hand, and a few moments later the door swung open.  
All Bucky had managed was a broken, quiet, "Steve, I-I remember," and that was all it took.

As soon as the words came out, Steve _knew_, knew everything that Bucky couldn't figure out how to phrase, and he had yanked Bucky into a hug.

Steve's arms wrapped tight around him and Bucky wanted to hug back, but he was scared and tired and so damn worn out, all he could do was bury his face in Steve's neck, and mutter out a soft apology, for everything.

Steve's friends were wary at first, Bucky knew that, and he didn't blame them. But eventually they accepted him.

Bucky wound up moving in with Steve. Steve had demanded it as soon as he heard that Bucky had been homeless for the past few months.

They lived in his apartment in New York, entirely different than the one they used to live in. It was large and spacious, they didn't have to share rooms, and the furniture was all new, nothing was dingy or broken in spots or second-hand.

It was nice. But it was different.

It was easy enough to adjust to the modern world, but it was a bit tougher to adjust to being Bucky again.

He thought he had remembered everything, but bits and pieces of his old self drifted back every day, and some days it was too much to handle.

There were nightmares, and panic attacks, and simply days where he just felt _broken_.

And Steve stayed by his side through all of it.  
Steve shared his bed when Bucky needed to be calmed down after a nightmare, Steve helped Bucky calm down and reminded him to breathe when he had a panic attack, and on the days when Bucky felt lost in his own skin Steve was the one who managed to find just the right things to make him happier.

When Bucky was a sick, anxiety-ridden mess, Steve was the one who took care of him.

But one of the few things that Bucky remembered perfectly was that the roles used to be swapped.

He remembers when he was the taller one, when he was the stronger one, when he was the one who'd patch up and kiss all of the wounds, mental or physical.

And he missed that.

* * *

Steve usually made it a priority to come home before 11 at night, and when he didn't he always let Bucky know that he'd be late. Bucky thought it was a bit stupid for a grown man to have a self-set curfew, but he did admit that it was nice to know when to expect him home.

It wasn't that nice when one Friday night, it was almost 1 am, and Steve had yet to return to the apartment.

At first, a little past midnight, he checked his phone every few minutes, expecting to see a belated text from Steve saying that he'd be home soon. After twenty minutes of waiting he had tried calling him, although, after ringing a few times, it went to voicemail. He waited ten minutes before trying to call Natasha, and then Sam, both of whom said that they hadn't seen him, but if they did, they'd call Bucky back.

He sat down on the sofa, and tried to push back the anxiety that was rising in the back of his mind. He took several deep breaths, and reminded himself that Steve wasn't just Steve, he was motherfucking Captain America, and the odds of anything happening to him was slim.

Bucky leaned back and attempted to relax a little, he knew if he let the anxiousness get the better of him, he'd gave yet another panic attack, and that wouldn't help the situation at all. He turned the TV on, hoping for some sort of distraction. It was on the cooking channel, showing late night reruns of some age-old cooking competition that Bucky had never heard of.

It was a distraction, though, and that was all that really mattered.

He managed to watch one episode, and another, and another, and it was nearly 1:30 when he heard the sound of the door being unlocked over the chefs arguing on TV.

Bucky turned the TV off and bolted up from his spot, and was halfway to the door when Steve walked in.

"Where were you?" Bucky said immediately, as Steve locked the door behind him. He moved slowly and stiffly, as if he was sore.

"Sorry I'm late," Steve replied, slightly sheepish, "I, um, I got into a fight."

"A fight?" Bucky questioned.

"Yeah, it was a pretty big guy too, and it lasted a while. I'm gonna go patch this up." He gestured to his forehead, where there was a thin, bleeding gash, right above his left eye.

"Go sit on the sofa," Bucky automatically said.

"But-"

"Sofa, now. I'll take care of it," Bucky interrupted. He had received this opportunity to relive a memory, and goddammit, he wasn't going to waste it.

Steve looked at him for a moment, before remembering their old routine. A small smile crossed his lips, and he went and sat on the middle of the sofa.

Bucky grinned to himself and headed to the bathroom, where he flipped open the medicine cabinet. The hydrogen peroxide was in the back hidden behind several other things, as were the bandages. He grabbed a small washcloth and the other items, and made his way back to the living room.

Steve was still sitting patiently on the sofa, his hands clasped in his lap and that smile still on his lips.

Bucky moved and sat on the coffee stable in front of him (he did have to push the table back a little, so their knee's wouldn't bump as much).

"So, why did you get into a fight this time?" he asked, as he twisted open the lid of the hydrogen peroxide, and poured a little on the washcloth.

"I was on my way here when I walked past that bar a few blocks away, and there was a guy harassing a drunk lady."  
"This is gonna sting," Bucky said, and without waiting a moment he pressed the cloth to Steve's cut.

Steve winced at the pain. "_Ow_," he said pointedly.

"I gave you a warning," Bucky chuckled, "So, guy and drunk lady. Continue."

"She was really out of it, and it was obvious that the guy had, well, dark intentions, so I intervened. He was _huge_, and didn't seemed at all deterred by the fact that I'm a superhero, and he punched me. And I punched back, and the fight went on for a good while. I'm lucky I got out with just the cut and a few bruises."  
Bucky finished cleaning out the cut and set the rag aside, and grabbed a bandage. He began doing the packaging to it. "What about the rest of the time? The fight couldn't have taken two and a half hours."

"Like I said, the lady was really out of it, and I wanted to make sure she got home okay. I didn't have any money for a cab, and neither did she, so I walked her home."

"That was really nice of you," Bucky replied. He pressed the bandage onto Steve's forehead and made sure it stuck. "There, done."

Bucky leaned forward, and placed a soft kiss on Steve's forehead.

"Next time you're gonna get in fights and take home damsels in distresses, call me, okay? I got really... panic-ey," he said, after a moment.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you worry," Steve replied, frowning slightly. He knew Bucky had anxiety issues, and he berated himself for not taking that into account earlier.

"It's just, you're all I got now," Bucky said, "And I don't want to lose you again."

Steve reached forward and pulled Bucky into a tight hug.

"You're never going to lose me," he said softly, "Ever."

* * *

**A/N: Simply because the world needs more Stucky fluff.**

**I know the writing style is a bit weird (I do most of my writing at three a.m. so I'm not the most coherent person in the world) and it does veer off topic in a few spots, but it's the best I can make it, please don't criticize it too harshly.**

**Leave a review if you liked it.**


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